


Louder Than Sirens

by onetruealpha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, BAMF Stiles, Banshee Lydia Martin, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Eventual True Alpha Scott, Magic Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Pack Dynamics, Protective Scott, Protective Stiles, Stiles is Scott's Anchor, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetruealpha/pseuds/onetruealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Trust your instincts.</i> </p><p>It’s the last thing that his mother tells him before her hand goes slack in his and the sterile, silent hospital room suddenly becomes an explosion of bustling nurses and doctors and wailing noises from the various machines that she’s hooked up to. He is yanked away screaming and his dad isn’t there. He is handed off to a woman from social services until his dad arrives almost forty minutes later, looking pale and wrung out. </p><p>Stiles doesn’t utter a word for almost three weeks. He wakes up screaming that a wolf with red eyes is trying to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "Drumming Song" by Florence and the Machine.
> 
> I'll probably add more tags as I go along.

_Trust your instincts._

It’s the last thing that his mother tells him before her hand goes slack in his and the sterile, silent hospital room suddenly becomes an explosion of bustling nurses and doctors and wailing noises from the various machines that she’s hooked up to. He is yanked away screaming and his dad isn’t there. He is handed off to a woman from social services until his dad arrives almost forty minutes later, looking pale and wrung out. 

Stiles doesn’t utter a word for almost three weeks. He wakes up screaming that a wolf with red eyes is trying to kill him. 

____

His first day at Beacon Hills High, his dad looks at him with worried eyes as they sit in his PT Cruiser and says, “Be careful. Trust your instincts.” 

He does, of course. It’s what’s brought them to this small town in Southern California to begin with. It’s his personal life motto. His dad is over-protective, and for a lot of good reasons. He hasn’t been at an actual school since he was eight, when his dad pulled him out and hired someone to homeschool him. His dad knows what he is up against, and it isn’t just adjusting to being in a new town, at a new school, with new people he’s never met. 

No, there’s more at stake now and it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous than just being the new kid. 

____

Scott McCall hears whispers about the new kid before he actually lays eyes on him for the first time in Coach Finstock’s economics class. He is slumped in his chair in the back of the room, but he straightens a little when the other boy walks in with a black bookbag on his back. He is tall and lanky, a dusting of moles on his pale face. His hair is brown and longer, like Scott’s used to be before he got it cut, except instead of being kind of curly like his was, the guy’s hair is more spiky. No one else seems to notice the way his presence practically fills the room as he stands talking to Coach. 

Scott notices, though. Scott notices lots of things that most people don’t. He notices that despite the kid’s calm appearance, his heart is beating quickly in his chest -- much faster than a normal person’s. He feels a pang of sympathy for him. He’s never had to be the new kid, but he knows from Allison that it isn’t a lot of fun. 

“Listen up. This is the new kid. What’s your name, new kid?” Coach asks him, looking him over and Scott is pretty sure he’s trying to figure out if he’ll be a good addition to the lacrosse team. 

“Stiles Stilinski.” 

Scott rolls his eyes at the smattering of snickers from their classmates. 

“Oh right. The new sheriff’s kid.” Coach looks out over the class and then motions for him to sit down. “There’s a seat in the back next to McCall.” 

He finds himself holding his breath as Stiles -- which is a very strange name but somehow fitting, he thinks, not sure _why_ he thinks it since he’s never actually met the guy before -- turns to look at him. Their eyes meet and lock for a moment and he’s taken aback by the intensity of the other teen’s amber-colored eyes. He looks down at his desk as Stiles moves to sit beside him. 

“Hey.” 

He turns his head to look at Stiles again. “Hey.” 

“You’re McCall?” 

“Scott,” he tells him with a nod and a small, friendly smile.

Stiles grins at him then and Scott feels something click inside of him at the sight, different than the way he’d felt the first time he’d seen Allison smile at him. Different and more familiar. More intense. 

And Scott isn’t sure what to think.

___

By the time he gets to second period, Stiles is already used to the snickers about his name, to the curious looks and appraising stares. He finds himself slightly unsettled by the piercing green eyes of a pretty strawberry blond in his first period English class. She stares at him openly but says nothing and when he gets up to leave when the bell rings, she narrows her eyes at him and follows him out the class with her gaze. 

He feels it like it’s burning against his skin. 

He gets lost on the way to economics and he walks in late. He feels eyes on him, and hears whispered words though he can’t make them out. He doesn’t have super-hearing abilities after all, but he’s sure they’re not saying nice things. That, at least, is familiar. Not comforting, but familiar. The teacher -- Finstock -- tells him to have a seat beside _McCall_ , and when he turns to look, his eyes lock with the other boy’s and he holds his breath. 

After a moment, he moves and sits down beside him, watching the boy duck his head and look down at his desk. He has the urge to reach out and lay a hand on his arm, but he refrains. He is used to touching people he is close to, though these days that’s limited to his dad and occasionally Marin. But Marin isn’t around much anymore. And Stiles isn’t close to the boy sitting beside him. He doesn’t even know his first name. 

He leans over just a bit to get his attention. “Hey.” 

The boy turns to look at him, regarding him with wary uncertainty in his dark brown eyes. “Hey,” he says back. 

Stiles fumbles for something else to say because he doesn’t know how to do this part of his life anymore. He barely knew how before. “You’re McCall?” That’s a lame thing to say, he thinks immediately. 

“Scott,” the boy corrects him, smiling a tiny smile that makes his cheeks dimple in a way that is all too endearing. 

He can’t imagine anyone can resist returning a smile like that and he grins back. He feels the pull instantly and he tries to remind himself that this isn’t why he’s here. He’s here because has an important job to do, and it’s not about making friends. 

It’s definitely not about anything _more_. Not with strawberry blond bombshells and not with olive-skinned boys who already feel like home.

___

 

Scott sits alone at lunch most days. Despite the fact that he’s the co-captain of the lacrosse team, he isn’t popular. He’s always been quiet and kind of awkward around people his own age. They don’t generally fawn over him the way they do someone more like Jackson Whittemore, who’s currently sitting a couple tables over, smirking at him. Jerk, he thinks, biting into an apple and letting his shoulders slump. 

“Okay. He’s _hot_ ,” he hears Erica Reyes say from the next table, and he can hear the lust in her voice and he wonders what guy she has her eye on now. 

“Him?” Isaac Lahey asks dubiously. “Really?” 

“There’s something about him.” She shrugs and Scott finds himself searching for who she’s talking about. 

That’s when he sees Stiles Stilinski approaching his table with a tray in his hand. Scott glances around uncertainly when Stiles asks if he can sit there. “With me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Uh, sure. I mean if you want?” His response comes out as more of a question than an answer and for the briefest of moments he figures he’s probably already blown his chances of a lunch companion, but to his surprise, Stiles sits down right across from him anyway.

“Bring anything good?” Stiles asks, nodding toward Scott’s sack lunch. 

“Just a sandwich and an apple,” he tells him, glancing enviously at Stiles’ plate of curly fries and chicken nuggets. Even with the combined money from his job at the vet clinic in town and his mom’s job at the hospital, they can’t afford for Scott to eat hot lunch very often. Not with the myriad of bills his dad dumped on them with when he left them when Scott was eight.

The other boy nudges his tray toward Scott. “Want some fries?” 

“Are you sure?” His eyebrows furrow. No one’s ever offered him part of their lunch before. Then again he’s never had a friend before. 

“Dude, no way I can eat all these fries by myself. It’s practically your obligation to the divineness of the gods of french fries to have some,” Stiles informs him matter of factly.

He can’t help but chuckle and he reaches out, grabbing a couple of fries and meeting Stiles’ eyes. “How’s your first day been?” he asks before popping a fry into his mouth. He’s disappointed that so far he only shares one class with Stiles. He desperately wants Stiles to like him and he’s not sure why.

“It’s been…” Stiles pauses as though he’s searching for just the right word to use. “About what I expected, I guess?” 

“Is that good or bad?” Scott asks curiously, watching him.

Stiles meets his eyes and smiles that same smile he’d given him in economics. “I’m not complaining.” 

He grins back. 

____

It takes him exactly six class periods to figure out that he has, metaphorically anyway, bitten off more than he’s possibly ready to chew. It’s not that he and his dad haven’t researched, that they weren’t warned. They had on both fronts. They’d done intensive research on Beacon Hills when Stiles started dreaming about it a few months ago. Marin told them both that the town was was named _Beacon_ Hills for a reason. 

Stiles knows now she was right. And so was he. This is the place he’s supposed to be, even if it’s more dangerous than he initially anticipated, as he finds out in PE while the class is out for a run through the preserve and they stumble on a body.

More accurately, the strawberry blond bombshell from first period English class stumbles over a body -- literally, and promptly begins screaming. Like, really disturbingly loudly. 

He stifles the urge to cover his ears even as he watches as four others do just that -- a pretty blond he vaguely remembers seeing at the table near Scott’s at lunch, a tall curly haired guy, and a dark-skinned boy with a shaved head…

And Scott McCall. 

He’s both surprised and not surprised by the revelation that Scott is a werewolf. The other three, though, have barely been on his radar until now. He draws in a breath and looks over to where Red is standing, shaking and pale as Coach uses his cell phone to call the sheriff’s department.

His dad is _not_ going to be happy with this turn of events.

____

He spends seventh period study hall in the library, hunched over one of the school computers. He learns that Red’s name is actually Lydia Martin, and yes. Of course it is. Lydia Martin, who was attacked a few months before on the lacrosse field and left for dead. _The_ Lydia Martin who was bitten by an alpha werewolf and hadn’t turned and hadn’t died, either. Which makes her more than a bit of an anomaly, even if she has no idea. 

He learns that the girl whose body was found at the woods belonged to a senior named Sarah Thomas. That she was a cheerleader. Pretty. Popular. And her throat was ripped out. He’s seen that much for himself. It isn’t a pretty mental image and he doubts it’ll be one he forgets anytime soon. 

Still. It isn’t the first dead body he’s seen. It won’t be the last. 

Stiles leans back in his chair, blowing out a breath and staring blankly into space as he thinks. Four werewolves, a banshee, and a dead body = ? That’s the question. He tries to remind himself that this isn’t actually why he’s here. But his mind is already coming up with all the reasons he still needs to stay on top of the evidence -- it might be related to the alpha, it’s definitely related to the banshee because there’s serious doubt in his mind that Lydia just coincidentally stumbled over a body, and because his gut tells him that this isn’t going to be the last death. 

Not by a long shot. 

____

Stiles rubs the back of his neck as he walks out of school and it dawns on him that he doesn’t have a ride home because his dad is undoubtedly busy with a murder investigation. Sure enough, he checks his phone and sees a text. 

**From Dad**

_Caught up with this investigation. First day on the job is turning out to be busy. Sorry, Kiddo. Maybe you can find a ride? Dinner in the fridge. Love you._

He sighs. 

“Hey.” 

Stiles looks up when he hears Scott from a few feet away. He feels that same pull he’s felt every time he’s been around the other teen since second period and he smiles. It is bad, bad, bad, so not at all what he’s here for, but maybe it kind of is after all, considering. “Hey,” he greets. 

“Everything okay?” Scott asks, sounding so unsure that he should even be talking to Stiles that it kind of hurts. 

“Ah, well. My dad’s sorta caught up with work because of the whole dead body in the woods thing from earlier, so I’m without a ride home,” he says honestly, shrugging. 

“Oh.” Scott’s eyes widen just a little and he looks toward the parking lot and then back at Stiles. “I can give you a ride, but I’m on a dirtbike.” 

“Yeah? That’d be cool,” Stiles tells him, unable to keep his smile from growing at the offer. 

“You like bikes?” 

“Never been on one,” he admits as he walks side by side with Scott toward his green and black dirtbike -- number 32. 

“I won’t go too fast. And you can wear my helmet,” Scott tells him, unfastening it from the bike and holding it out to Stiles. 

It’s a thoughtful gesture, especially when he knows Scott has _no_ idea that Stiles is aware that if they’d happen to wreck, Scott would likely heal without a scratch. “Thanks, man.” He pulls the helmet on over his head, glancing over to where Lydia Martin is standing beside an electric blue Toyota Camry a few spaces away, eyes narrowed and locked on the two of them, head cocked to one side as if she’s in deep thought. He watches her for a moment, then turns to see that Scott has climbed onto the bike. Stiles fastens the helmet on with the strap under his chin and climbs on behind him. He gives Scott his address, figuring he’ll also have to give him directions, but Scott pauses and glances at him over his shoulder. 

“That’s just down the road from me,” he tells Stiles as he climbs on the bike behind Scott.. 

It turns out he isn’t kidding. Scott points his own house out on the drive to Stiles’. It’s literally six houses away from the house he and his dad now live in. 

“Okay that’s kinda weird. I mean this isn’t a huge town but like, it’s not _that_ small either,” Scott comments as Stiles climbs off and hands him the helmet back. 

“Yeah, it’s definitely a strange coincidence.” Except Stiles doesn’t believe in coincidences. He never has. “You wanna come in? My dad’s gonna be working late but he said he left dinner in the fridge.” 

“Oh. Are you sure?” 

He can’t help but wonder why Scott’s so unsure of himself, but there’s something there in his eyes that is familiar, something haunting that tugs at him. Loss, he realizes, not entirely sure how he knows that, but he hears his mom’s voice in his head as clear as if she is standing right beside him. 

_Trust your instincts._

Stiles nods. “Yeah, come on in. You can tell me about Beacon Hills and what there is to do around this place. We’ll eat...we’ll…” He pauses. “Tell me you like video games.” 

Scott’s eyes light up. “Dude. I _love_ video games.” 

He grins. “And on the day he moves from a rainy little town in Washington to sunny Beacon Hills, he finally meets his best friend.” 

And the look on Scott’s face when he says those words? _So_ worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

He’d been right when he thought his dad wasn’t going to be happy with the latest Beacon Hills developments. His dad definitely isn’t happy. He watches him pour himself a tumbler of Jack Daniels and swirl it around in the glass, looking tired and older than Stiles remembers him looking for awhile. He wants to point out that whiskey isn’t really going to help the situation, but he stays quiet for now.

“I hate this,” John informs him, not looking up as he takes a drink. “We should never have come here.” 

Stiles looks down at his hands. “I don’t think there was much choice, Dad,” he says quietly, shifting in the kitchen chair. He thinks they should probably start unpacking the rest of their things because this is going to be long-term and they both know it, even if his dad hates it and even if Stiles himself is kind of scared about all of it. 

“I’m not going to lose you to this, too.” 

He winces at the reference to his mother, and he bites his lower lip. It’s not something he can promise and they both know it, so he doesn’t say it. They’re both too smart to pretend that the possibility isn’t there, even if the circumstances are very different. Outcomes can always be the same even if the circumstances vary. 

“I’m gonna be careful, Dad,” he tries to assure him instead. 

John snorts and pins him with a look. “You’ve never been careful a day in your life,” he says wryly. 

Stiles ducks his head and smiles faintly. “Yeah, well. I’ll try this time.” 

He sighs. “I’m holding you to that, Kid.” 

____

He finds Lydia the next morning before the first period bell rings and sits down in the seat right beside her. He drops his bag on the floor beside his desk, which catches her attention and she arches an eyebrow at him. Good. Now that he has her attention, he decides launching right into things is the best way to go. He hopes it won’t be too weird. But wouldn’t it be weirder for him not to ask?

“So. Dead bodies. That something that I should be prepared for on a regular basis around here?” 

“Isn’t your dad the new sheriff?” she asks all too casually and he shrugs, undeterred. 

“He is, but he doesn’t exactly tend to keep me in the loop on work-related stuff.” A flat out lie, but it’s not like she knows anything about him or his dad or how they work. “Something about wanting me to just be a normal teenager and not be thinking about things like dead bodies.” 

Lydia studies him, and he notes that her eyes are a deep green, full of wariness and suspicion and such a contrast from Scott’s brown eyes that are warm and inviting. “Maybe you should listen to your dad.” 

Stiles gives her a lopsided grin. “I’m a rebellious hellion, what can I say?” 

She rolls her eyes at that. “Dead bodies happen slightly more frequently in Beacon Hills than other places if you analyze the statistics closely enough.” 

“Kind of strange for a small town, don’t you think?” he asks, leaning forward in his desk but keeping his gaze trained on her. “I mean, what do you guys have here, like gangs or something?” His voice is light and joking. 

Lydia smirks. “You probably should have done your homework before moving here, Stilinski.” 

He’s surprised by the fact that she remembers his name. They hadn’t even talked yesterday. The surprise must have registered on his face because she tilts her head to the side. 

“You are the only new person in school right now, though I hear we’re getting a couple more soon.” 

Stiles considers that. “You always this on top of new people’s comings and goings?” 

“It’s sort of my job,” she informs him in a mock whisper. 

Somehow he’s not surprised by that. She definitely seems like the Queen Bee type. But she’s also talking to him which is kind of unexpected. 

“Speaking of comings and goings, I saw you leaving on the back of Scott McCall’s bike yesterday after school.” There’s a hint of curiosity in her tone now and he feels heat rising to his cheeks. 

“Yeah, my dad was tied up with work and Scott gave me a ride home. Turns out we only live a few houses away from each other.” 

“Interesting coincidence,” she remarks, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she pulls a pen from her purse and other students begin filtering into the room. 

“What is?” a new voice asks, and Stiles turns to see a tall guy in a red letterman’s jacket take the seat behind Lydia. His hair is blond, his eyes piercing and blue and he glowers at Stiles like he’s a bug. 

Stiles dislikes him instantly. 

“None of your business,” Lydia responds in a clipped tone, not turning around. She focuses her gaze on Stiles. “We’ll talk later. Find me at lunch.” 

“Oh. I was gonna sit with Scott. Is it okay if he sits with us?” he asks, hoping she says yes because he’s already looking forward to seeing Scott again even though he knows he shouldn’t. 

She hmm’s and then nods. “Sure.” 

“Scott? As in McCall?” The blond scoffs and rolls his eyes. “He’s a loser, but I guess losers do stick together.” 

“Jackson, you’re being obnoxious,” Lydia informs him and Stiles can tell she’s annoyed. “Scott is the co-captain of the lacrosse team. Jackson’s just annoyed because until last year, _he_ was the sole captain of the team and he’s not as good at the game as Scott is these days.” 

Jackson scowls. “Way to be a bitch.” 

Stiles shifts his gaze between them and shrugs. “Okay, so then I’ll find you at lunch,” he says, deciding to ignore the blond all together.

He misses the way Jackson’s scowl deepens at their lunch plans.

_____

Scott gets to economics early that day, picking his usual seat in the back of the room. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he hears Stiles’ heartbeat from down the hall, heading toward the classroom. He’s not sure how or why he knows it’s Stiles’, he just does. Sure enough, the taller boy steps into the room a second later and looks right at Scott and grins, moving over and dropping into the seat in front of him.

The seat in front of Scott is much closer than the seat beside him where Stiles had sat the day before and he’s more than okay with having the other boy that much closer. There’s something so _familiar_ about Stiles and he can’t put his finger on it. He barely slept the night before, too wired from spending the evening at the Stilinski household playing games and eating pizza.

It’s the first time Scott’s ever felt such utter acceptance from another person his age who _isn’t_ Allison and it’s left him feeling giddy. He wonders if this is what it’s like for all people their age -- or at least all _normal_ people his age. The _excitement_ of having a new friend. He reminds himself that he isn’t exactly normal and he looks down at his desk as the thought crashes into him, leaving him temporarily breathless for reasons that aren’t good. He has to remember that he is a monster. That anyone who gets too close will be in danger not only from him, but from other werewolves. From hunters. 

At that moment, Stiles turns around in his chair so he’s facing Scott and arches his eyebrows. “Okay two seconds ago you seemed happy to see me but now it looks like you’ve changed your mind. I’m kinda hurt.” 

Scott’s mouth tugs upwards in a smile without permission and he glances at Stiles from beneath long lashes. “No, I am. Happy to see you,” he assures him, voice quiet. “Just kinda remembered some stuff I’m supposed to do later that I don’t wanna do. Chore kinds of things.” 

He feels Stiles’ gaze on him, intent and utterly focused. On _him_. “I take it that means no marathon session of Call of Duty tonight?” 

Scott hesitates. “Probably shouldn’t.” 

“Okay, but it’s probably shouldn’t because you’re busy and not ‘sorry man you got on every nerve in my body last night and I don’t want to be around you anymore at all ever’, right?” Stiles’ voice is joking, but there’s something in his tone, and in the way that his heart has suddenly started beating a little faster that makes Scott realize Stiles isn’t quite as confident about things as he initially thought. 

“It’s definitely not the latter,” he assures him, looking up and meeting his eyes. He’s pretty sure it could _never_ be the latter reason. “Maybe we could hang out this weekend, though? I only work til one on Saturday.” He can’t resist making the offer. Doesn’t _want_ to resist making the offer. He wants this, this normalcy in his life. And he wants Stiles, this boy he barely knows, to feel a sense of belonging that he himself has never really felt.

Stiles holds his gaze for a long moment and Scott finds himself unable to look away. “Yeah, Saturday should be good,” he says after a few seconds, and Scott relaxes. 

The full moon is Friday night. It’ll be better if he tries to stay away from Stiles until it’s come and gone. Every month is a struggle to keep himself under control. Derek keeps telling him he has to find an anchor, and while he understands the concept, he’s tried and come up empty with one that works for more than one full moon at a time. He’s a failure of a werewolf, he thinks miserably. 

“Lydia wants to sit with us at lunch.” Stiles pauses. “Uh, Lydia Martin. I don’t know if there’s more than one Lydia in the school or not.” 

Scott’s eyebrows shoot up. “Lydia Martin wants to sit with _me?_ ” 

“Why’s that so surprising? I hear you’re the co-captain of the lacrosse team,” Stiles tells him, shrugging. 

“Well yeah but...it’s complicated.” 

“Because of Jackson?” 

Scott blinks a couple of times. “Well, I mean there’s that, too. He’s my co-captain and he pretty much hates my guts. He’s pretty much always hated my guts.” 

The dark-haired boy shakes his head. “It’s hard to imagine anyone hating you.” 

Something within Scott warms at the sincerity of those words and he ducks his head, smiling shyly. “You haven’t been here long.” 

“Maybe not, but I am an _excellent_ judge of character.” Stiles cocks his head to the side. “So what’s the other reason you don’t think Lydia would want to sit with you?” 

Scott draws in a breath. “Her uh -- her best friend is sort of...my ex-girlfriend.” He’s not sure what to make of things when Stiles’ expression shifts into something a little more guarded. 

“Oh. So the whole sisterhood thing.” He nods.

“It’s complicated?” Scott reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, chest tightening at the thought of Allison. “It ended kind of...not really badly. But kind of badly.” He glances up, realizing he wants to tell Stiles all of it. He’s never told _anyone_ all of it, even if Lydia and a few others have bits and pieces of it. 

“Makes total sense,” Stiles says wryly and Scott can’t help but give a short laugh. 

“I just kind of assumed Lydia hates me now.” 

“Did you dump her? Your ex, I mean.” 

He shakes his head. “No, it was mostly mutual. More mutual on her part than mine,” he admits with a soft sigh. 

Stiles falls silent at that and Scott watches him, wonders what he’s thinking. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, man. I’m fine,” he tells Scott, nodding again and looking up when Coach enters the room. 

“Stilinski!” 

“Yeah?” He hears the faintest hint of anxiety in Stiles’ tone and he has to resist the urge to reach out and lay a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. 

Coach stands at the front of the room, attention focused solely on Stiles, hands on his hips. “Lacrosse team tryouts are next week. You in, or what?” His voice is expectant.

“Uh.” 

“Dude, say yes,” Scott whispers, leaning forward in his chair and patting his arm excitedly.

“I’ve never played,” Stiles whispers, glancing back at him with wide eyes. 

Their gazes lock once more. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.” 

Stiles nods once and then turns to look at Coach Finstock. “Yeah. I’ll try out.” 

Scott can’t help but grin.  
____

Stiles meets Scott in the cafeteria for the second day in a row, carefully balancing his lunch tray on one hand and holding onto his backpack strap with his other. Scott’s brought sack lunch once more. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Scott is _nervous_ as they spot the strawberry-blonde waving at them from a table where she’s sitting by herself. 

“Maybe I should just sit by myself,” Scott whispers. 

Stiles frowns and shakes his head. “No way, man. Come on. She won’t bite.” He wonders if _Scott_ bites, and he glances at the other boy sideways, noticing the way he flinches just slightly at his words and Stiles winces at his insensitivity. 

“Yeah, okay.” Scott just sounds resigned and Stiles leads him over to the table where Lydia’s already sitting, picking at a salad on her lunch tray. 

“Hey, Lydia,” Stiles greets with a small smile, sitting down across from her, Scott right beside him.

“Stiles,” she greets back, shifting her attention to the werewolf beside him. “Scott.” There’s no hint of annoyance or anger in her voice that Stiles can detect and he figures Scott must have come to the same conclusion because he feels Scott relax, their arms brushing against one another. 

He holds his breath as he feels goosebumps break out on his arms, and he’s glad he’s wearing a flannel shirt over his t-shirt and that neither of them can see the effect that the light contact causes him. He swallows hard and tries his best to look nonchalant as he picks up his fork and stabs a couple of green beans with it. 

“So. I was thinking we should give Stiles a tour of the town,” Lydia says casually. 

“Oh. Yeah, definitely.” Scott nods and glances at him sideways, smiling. “We should do that. I mean if you’re interested.” 

Stiles is pretty sure there isn’t much he wouldn’t be willing to do with the two of them and he feels his cheeks growing warm at the thought as he nods, picking up his Coke and taking a drink. “Yeah, that’d be great, actually.” 

“Of course it would,” Lydia says with a knowing smile. “This weekend then.” 

“I have to work til one on Saturday,” Scott tells her. 

“I’m having a party Saturday night. You should both come. We can do the official Beacon Hills tour on Sunday,” she decides.

“You’re having a party on Saturday night?” Scott sounds surprised. 

She gives him a pointed look. “Well, I definitely can’t have one on _Friday_ night.” 

Stiles resists the urge to look at Scott when the other boy shifts beside him uncomfortably. He knows _why_ Scott is suddenly uncomfortable. Because Friday is the full moon. “What’s the occasion?” he asks, glancing at her. 

Lydia smiles at him. “You’re welcome to town party, of course,” she says, winking at him as she rises to her feet. 

The words and the wink catch him off guard and he stares up at her. “You really don’t have to do that.” 

“It seems like the right thing to do. I mean, who doesn’t love a party?” she asks, picking up her books off the table. “Anyway. Sorry to bail, but I have a test to study for. I’ll see you guys later.” She meets Stiles’ eyes briefly before heading away from the table. 

“O-kay,” Stiles says uncertainly, feeling like he’s just been hit by a whirlwind. Which really isn’t an entirely inaccurate description of Lydia, from the couple times he’s talked to her. He glances over at Scott. “Is that normal? A party for the new guy? I mean, she barely knows me.” 

“Lydia likes to throw parties,” Scott tells him with a slight shrug. “And they tend to be pretty epic. I’ve only ever been to one. A few months ago.” A dark look passes over his face and Stiles wonders what that’s about. 

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna come to this one right? I mean you’re not going to send me to a party in my honor completely alone, are you? Because I have it on good authority that best friends are supposed to stick together for this kind of thing.” His voice is teasing, but he means the words all the same.

Scott turns his head to look at Stiles, a small smile touching his mouth, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes Stiles return the grin. “If you really want me to, yeah.” 

“Dude. I definitely want you to,” he says honestly. 

“Then we’ll go,” Scott tells him. 

_____

It’s the end of the day and Scott stands at his locker, carefully shifting the books he doesn’t need to take home for the night out of his backpack and inside the metal storage space. The hallway is mostly empty now, the majority of students having gone home for the night, eager to get out of school and while Scott wants to go home, too, he enjoys the relative silence, despite how brief it is. He tenses as he feels another wolf approaching and he knows instantly that it’s Jackson Whittemore. _Great._

“McCall,” he says, slamming Scott’s locker and leaning against it. 

Scott narrows his eyes at his co-captain. “What do you want, Jackson?”

“Derek wants you with us Friday night. He told me to deliver the message.” He sounds bored. 

“Tell Derek I’m no more interested in being part of his pack now than I was last month when he sent Isaac to deliver his message,” he says evenly. 

“You’re an idiot.” Jackson straightens up and glares at him, doing his best to look intimidating. 

“Fine. I’m an idiot.” He sighed. “Get out of my way, Jackson. I need to get into my locker.” 

“Why don’t you make me? Or can you? I mean you’re not part of a pack. An Omega is basically a lame duck.” He smirks at Scott, eyes flashing blue. 

He’s so sick of Jackson’s superiority complex he could scream. “You sure about that?” Scott asks, taking a step forward and glaring up at him. 

“Let’s find out.” 

Before Scott has time to react, Jackson grabs him by his shirt collar and hurls him across the hallway and sends him crashing into the row of lockers. 

“Hey!”

Fear shoots through Scott when he hears Stiles’ angry voice yelling as he moves closer, picking up his pace. “It’s fine,” Scott says quickly as he struggles to get to his feet even as Jackson approaches him once more. 

“Mind your own business, _Stiles,_ ” Jackson snaps, not even looking at him as he reaches down and grabs Scott none-too-gently. 

“Oh, this _is_ my business,” Stiles responds, grabbing him by his arm. When Jackson turns, Stiles punches him hard in the face and sends him sprawling on the floor. 

Scott rises up with wide eyes, moving to stand beside Stiles. “We should go.” There’s a hint of urgency in his voice as he watches Jackson get up again, now glaring at Stiles.

Except Stiles is glaring back at Jackson and Scott can feel the anger coming off him in waves. And there’s something else. The low hum of unfamiliar energy that’s simultaneously both invigorating and calming at the same time. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re a bit of a bully?” Stiles asks, and Scott can hear the annoyance in his new friend’s voice.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re out of your league?” Jackson retorts, moving forward and reaching out to grab Stiles.

Before Scott can move to stop him, Stiles squares his shoulders and stares hard at Jackson and Scott _feels_ the other werewolf falter, suddenly looking uncertain. He turns his head to look at Stiles, at the deadly calm and focused expression on his face, the intensity in his eyes. The air crackles around them and he has to take a deep breath. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but the strange energy in the air is definitely coming from the boy he’s standing beside and obviously Jackson can feel it too. 

But he’s pretty sure that Jackson feels it in a different way, because Jackson looks _intimidated_ , and Scott just feels amazed. 

He also has roughly five hundred questions that are now making his mind spin. 

“You’re gonna keep your hands to yourself from now on,” Stiles says in a low tone, not taking his eyes off the blonde werewolf. 

“What are you?” Jackson whispers, staring at him even as he takes a small step back. 

Scott watches as a slow smile spreads across Stiles’ face. It’s not the same warm smile he’s given Scott or even the teasing one that’s already seared into Scott’s mind for all eternity. No, this one is different.

He suddenly realizes he and Jackson aren’t the only two dangerous people in the hallway. 

And he wonders why _he’s_ not scared in the least.


	3. Chapter 3

“What _was_ that?” Scott asks him as he lets the other boy drag him into the McCall house a short time later that afternoon. 

Admittedly, using his powers on Jackson might not have been his smartest move ever. It definitely negates the idea of keeping a somewhat low profile, which is something he probably should have thought about first. Especially with dead bodies turning up. But he’d seen Jackson attacking Scott and he’d gone from completely zen to pissed off in less time than it takes a normal person to blink.

And Stiles is not a normal person. He never has been. 

Scott is watching him intently, eyes still wider than usual, but it isn’t fear that he detects in Scott’s expression. It’s something more akin to _awe_ and Stiles isn’t sure what to do with that. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. He can’t exactly lie to Scott -- he’ll hear it. More than that, he finds he doesn’t _want_ to lie to Scott. He wants to tell him everything. 

_Trust your instincts._

He drops his hand from his neck. “I’m not exactly a normal teenager,” he admits. 

Scott’s mouth tugs upwards at the corners. “Yeah, I kinda figured that out already.” 

Stiles can’t help but grin. “Then again neither are you.” He watches the other boy’s eyes widen a little. 

“Uh, I- I -- don’t know what you mean,” he stammers. 

“Scott, it’s okay,” he tells him, arching his eyebrows and moving to sit down on the sofa. “I pretty much figured it all out yesterday in gym class.” He shrugs. 

Scott blinks. “What? How?” 

“Well.” He sat forward, resting his hands on his knees and looking up at him. “Because when Lydia screamed, you and a bunch of others reacted like your eardrums were bursting?” 

“Sorta felt like they were,” Scott mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Okay so wait, what do you think I am, exactly?” 

Stiles gave him a look. “A werewolf, dude.” He watches Scott open his mouth and close it again, like he can’t believe Stiles has been in town all of two days and has figured out what is presumably his biggest secret. He gives him a few moments to adjust to the idea.

“Okay, but, like...how do you know about werewolves? I mean you’re...not a werewolf.” It isn’t a question. 

“Nope. I’m definitely not a werewolf,” Stiles confirms, even though he knows it’s unnecessary. 

Scott hesitates a moment, then moves to sit down beside him on the sofa, angling his body so he’s facing Stiles. “Then, what…?” 

He offers Scott a lopsided smile and a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m an emissary. Well. In training, I guess. Sort of anyway. Usually emissaries are older than me. By a few years at least.” 

“An emissary?” he echoes, looking confused. 

Stiles stares at him. “You work for Deaton and you don’t know what an emissary is?” 

He frowns. “Wait, what does my boss have to do with any of this?” 

He groans and leans back against the sofa. This would have been a much simpler conversation if Deaton had just been a little bit more forthcoming with Scott. It can’t possibly be a coincidence that Scott ended up working for him, right?

He rolls his head to look at Scott, pursing his lips. “Deaton’s an emissary, too.” 

“Okay, but I don’t even know what that means. What’s an emissary?” 

Stiles folds his hands in his lap. “An emissary is basically a guide. Usually to a pack’s alpha. They help the alpha learn how to control their powers, how to ground themselves, how to deal with their pack. Think of an emissary as a walking, talking guidance counselor slash information bank.” 

Scott listens to him intently, looking even more awed than he had moments ago. “And you do that?” 

“Well, not yet. I don’t have an alpha to work with,” he explains. He watches as Scott’s face falls. “What?” 

The other boy looks uncomfortable. No. He looks upset. “There’s only one alpha in town.” 

“I’m aware,” Stiles tells him with a nod. “That’s not the one I’m looking for, though.” He watches Scott closely, sees his confusion. 

“But if there’s only one…” 

“There’s going to be another.” He’s certain of that. 

“You mean -- you mean one of us is gonna kill the current town alpha?” Scott’s eyes widen and Stiles quickly shakes his head. 

“No, no.” He holds a hand up. “I mean, someone in this town is going to become a _true_ alpha.” He almost sighs at the perplexed look on his friend’s face. Deaton really hasn’t explained anything to the guy, clearly. “You can become an alpha in three ways. One is -- like you said. Someone kills the current alpha and gains their powers and abilities. Two -- it can be inherited. Passed down. It only happens in families, though. So say there’s a family of ten and the current alpha were to die. The next in line would become the alpha.” 

Scott thinks about that for a moment, and nods slowly, and Stiles is sure he’s thinking of the Hale family. “And the third?” 

“The third is...someone can be a true alpha through sheer strength of character and force of will. It’s incredibly rare. Once in a hundred years, _maybe_ ,” Stiles explains. 

“And you think someone in Beacon Hills is going to become a true alpha?” Scott looks uncertain, perplexed.

“I know it,” he says firmly, no hint of doubt in his mind. 

“How? Are emissaries psychic?” Scott leans a little closer, earnest expression on his face. 

He can’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call it psychic, no. More like...we have really honed instincts when it comes to these kinds of things.” He leans an elbow against the back of the couch, turning so he and Scott are fully facing one another. He can tell the other boy has a ton of questions and Stiles doesn’t blame him. 

He, by nature, is an incredibly inquisitive person. He craves knowledge the way most people crave air and love. 

“Is this why you came to town? Does your dad know about all this?” 

Stiles nods. “I’ve been dreaming about Beacon Hills off and on for years. But...the last few months it’s been constant. Nearly every night.” He doesn’t tell Scott about the other part of his dream -- about the wolf with red eyes that chases him through the woods, the claws that tear into his flesh. 

Scott stares at him with wide eyes. 

“You think I’m crazy.” 

“No! No, I don’t. I don’t think you’re crazy. I mean, I’m a werewolf. How could I think anyone else was crazy?” Scott points out. He looks down for a moment, chews on a thumbnail. “Is it only alphas that you can help?” 

Stiles cocks head to the side. “No. It’s just -- traditionally most packs don’t even know emissaries exist. Usually they only have contact with the alpha.” 

“Traditionally,” Scott echoes, troubled. 

“I’m not a very traditional kind of guy,” he admits. He reaches out and nudges Scott’s hand. “What kind of help do you need?” 

“My control isn’t the best on the full moon,” Scott says, not looking at him. He sees something akin to shame on the boy’s face. “The local alpha told me I need an anchor. The problem is, I’ve sorta...Allison was sort of it. And she’s not even in the country right now. I mean, some stuff happened awhile back and she and her dad left for France. I haven’t seen or talked to her since.” 

Stiles wants to feel bad that Scott’s ex-girlfriend isn’t in town, but he doesn’t. What he feels is relief. _I am a bad person,_ he thinks. 

“I mean I’ve tried other things over the last few months since she’s been gone, but…” Scott shakes his head. “Nothing really works.” 

“And it’s just at the full moon?” he asks curiously. 

“Yeah, mostly. I mean, sometimes if I get really angry I have a hard time with it, but...I don’t get that angry very often.” 

Stiles leans back, considering that for a long moment. “You were bitten, right? I mean you weren’t born a werewolf.” 

Scott nods. “I was attacked in the woods about ten months ago. I had no idea what was going on until another werewolf sought me out. I thought he was nuts. Sometimes I still think he’s kind of nuts.” 

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “Well, that’s the general reaction when people start talking about things like werewolves and emissaries, Scotty.” The nickname slipped from his lips without a second thought. “That puts you in the category of rational, and that’s a plus. You’re gonna need that. I mean it’s good to have an open mind, but you have to be careful, too. There’s a lot of BS stories out there.”

Scott smiles, almost shyly. “You mean like that whole thing about silver?” 

“Yep. Silver has no affect on werewolves at all. As where mountain ash, wolfsbane and mistletoe are pretty much things you should try to avoid at all costs,” Stiles confirms. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Derek told me all of that,” he says, then pauses, eyes widening. “Oh god, I shouldn’t have--” 

Sensing where Scott’s going with this, Stiles holds up a hand. “Don’t worry. I already knew about Derek. You didn’t break any promises to keep his wolfie identity a secret. Beacon Hills has been Hale pack property for centuries.” At Scott’s surprised look, he shrugs. “I’ve done my homework.” 

“I’m not part of his pack,” Scott admits. 

He nods, meeting the other boy’s eyes. “I know.” 

“He’s been trying to get me to join since he became an alpha,” he tells Stiles, looking down. 

Stiles studies him. “You know it’s dangerous being an omega.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he told me that, too.” He sighs, pursing his lips. “We just don’t see eye to eye on things. Like...nearly anything ever.” 

He listens, thinking that over. “And because you won’t blindly agree to fall in line with his decisions, it’s not a right fit for you.” 

“Yeah. Exactly,” Scott says, looking up at him with a pained expression. “I mean, we’ve worked together from time to time when we’ve had to. When there wasn’t a lot of choice. But...longterm?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can follow Derek.” 

Stiles leans forward. “You know what’s best for you.” 

“You don’t think I should join Derek’s pack?” 

He holds Scott’s gaze. “I’m gonna give you the most valuable piece of advice anyone’s ever given me. And that’s -- always trust your instincts.” 

Scott nods at that, pausing. “Do you think you can help me with this whole anchor thing?” 

“Scott, it is my sacred duty not only as a budding emissary, but also as your best friend, to help you with this whole anchor thing.” He flashes a grin, pleased when Scott grins back just as brightly.

He’s pretty sure Scott could ask him to jump off a bridge and he’d ask him where the nearest one was. 

Yeah. 

_Trouble, thy name is spelled Scott McCall_ , he thinks.

____

It is barely six in the evening and Stiles is lying face down on his mattress, wondering how he gets himself into these situations. He and his dad have only been there for a few days and he has already revealed his identity to two people -- one of whom he trusts on a very base, instinctive level, and the other whom he trusts about as far as the distance that spans from his bed to his desk. 

And then there’s Lydia, who obviously knows about werewolves and Scott and Jackson, possibly the other wolves in town, too, but doesn’t seem to have a clue what _she_ is. Or maybe she does and she doesn’t trust anyone well enough to let them in on her secret. 

Not to mention there’s still a dead body with no suspects in the death, yet, even though he’s certain the suspect is a werewolf and he’s certain his dad knows that much, too. How could he not? His dad is smart. Really smart. 

He knows he’s going to need to get to know the other werewolves in town. All of them. Especially if he’s going to narrow down a suspect for his dad. And whether his dad will agree with it or not -- and Stiles _knows_ that he won’t -- Sheriff Stilinski needs his help. 

“Hey. Dinner’s almost ready.” His dad pauses in the doorway. “You all right?” 

Stiles pushes himself up and looks over at him. “Yeah. Just thinking.” 

The sheriff sighs and looks upwards as if praying that his son’s not about to get himself into trouble. Which he probably is. “Do I want to know?”

“Rarely if ever,” he responds with a smirk. 

“Isn’t _that_ the truth.” He shakes his head and meets Stiles’ eyes. “How’s it going at school? Was day two okay?” He hears the concern there and he keeps his expression as neutral as possible because he doesn’t want to give away the fact that he may have already screwed up in a major way without at least first trying to remedy things on his own. 

He doesn’t want his dad to pull him out of school like the last time. 

“Yeah, it was fine. Just -- you know. History and economics and math and English and gym. Hey, but no dead bodies today that I’m aware of, so that’s a plus, right?” It’s equal parts hopeful and fishing for answers that his dad might let slip. 

But his dad knows him too well. He gives Stiles a look that clearly says he knows what Stiles is up to and he’s lucky that John is a patient guy. He’s had to be, considering.

“No dead bodies today,” his dad confirms and Stiles nods.

“So what’s for dinner?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. 

His dad makes a face at him. “Spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Whole wheat noodles and turkey meatballs, right?” Stiles questions. Because after his dad’s last couple of checkups, Stiles has become hypervigilant about what his dad eats. High cholesterol is dangerous. 

John Stilinski just sighs. “Yes, Dad. Whole wheat noodles and turkey meatballs. You can even check the packages. I left them on the counter for your inspection.” 

He grins. 

____

Stiles is early to school the next morning. His dad drops him off before his shift at work, and he’s hoping to use the time to get a little more familiar with the school. In particular, with the school _records._ He needs to do some digging into the histories of the other werewolves he knows about, the ones he doesn’t think that he’s going to have such an easy time getting close to. 

He places his books into his locker and pauses as he feels an unfamiliar presence approaching. During normal school hours he wouldn’t give it a second thought. But this early in the morning, when the only other people there are some teachers getting ready for the day and the school janitor? 

He doesn’t even get a full glimpse at the person until he feels a hand around his neck, slamming him into the locker beside his and hauling him up, off the ground, red glowing eyes glaring up at him and mouth twisted into a dangerous smirk. 

There’s no question in his mind who the guy is now. Even without the red eyes, fangs and surly expression, the leather jacket and hostile attitude are pretty much a dead give away. He takes note that the others -- Jackson, the blond girl, the dark skinned boy, and the curly-headed guy -- are all flanking their alpha, two on each side of him. 

His pack. 

_This_ , he thinks. _Really isn’t how I planned for introductions with the alpha to go._


	4. Chapter 4

“I hear you’re not exactly a normal teenager,” the guy says, more of a snarl than anything.

Stiles would be happy to respond to that if he _could_. The alpha’s hand is so tight around his throat he literally can’t speak. Breathing is quickly becoming an issue and he reaches up, clawing instinctively at the werewolf’s hand to try and pry it away from his neck.

His grip relaxes just enough that Stiles can talk.

Unfortunately Stiles’ nature tends more toward sarcasm when dealing with unexpected confrontation. “Pot...meet kettle,” he utters, coughing as he glares back.

Hale’s features twist into a smirk and he tightens his grip again, raising him up higher against the locker, scraping his back painfully over the combination lock where it digs into his hipbone. He’s gonna have bruises, that’s for sure. Assuming he makes it out of this alive. Right now he isn’t so sure.

And then --

“Let. Him. Go.” Scott’s voice is deeper than he’s used to hearing, and he’s able to turn his head just enough to see that his friend is completely wolfed out, growl low in his throat as he approaches quickly. His eyes are golden and shining.

 _Beautiful,_ Stiles thinks.

“Stay out of this, Scott,” the man holding him warns.

“Derek, _let him go_ ,” he snarls and Stiles is unable to do anything but try to breathe because that’s all one really _can_ do when they’re being strangled by an alpha werewolf. He catches sight of the other wolves turning their attention to Scott, though he notes that both the dark skinned boy and the curly headed one hesitate before they also wolf out.

“He’s trouble,” Derek informs Scott matter-of-factly, glancing at him, seemingly unperturbed by Scott’s anger.

“With a capital T,” Stiles manages to say, trying to focus his energy on the alpha.

“He’s my _friend_ ,” Scott growls, moving closer to Derek and completely ignoring the others.

Derek looks between them, narrowing his eyes at Stiles and reluctantly dropping him onto the ground.

He hits his knees hard, wincing at the impact, but glaring up at the man and rubbing his throat. “You better hope my neck doesn’t bruise because otherwise my dad’s gonna be all over your ass, alpha werewolf or not, Hale,” he warns, enjoying the shock on Derek’s face.

Scott moves to his side, winding an arm around him to help him up. “Are you okay?”

He lets Scott help him to his feet. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Who the hell are you?” Derek demands, presence still menacing and mildly terrifying.

Stiles glances past him to the other four werewolves. Jackson looks at him warily but doesn’t move any closer. He still doesn’t know the names of the other three, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going to be hard to find them out.

Scott glares at Derek. “Just back the hell off,” he orders. “Leave him alone.”

“He attacked Jackson!”

“Because _Jackson_ attacked _me_ ,” Scott snaps. 

Stiles reaches out and lays a hand on his arm, feeling the werewolf’s anger begin to dissipate almost instantly. He blinks a couple of times, surprised, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. He turns his attention back to Derek as he files that knowledge away. “Maybe you should figure out how to keep your pack in line.” 

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “You still haven’t answered my question. Who _are_ you? Or _what_ are you? Because you’re not a normal human. Normal humans don’t intimidate werewolves.” 

“I wasn’t intimidated,” Jackson interjects. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You nearly pissed yourself.” 

Scott shifts closer to Stiles, standing protectively beside him as Jackson steps forward with a low growl. 

“It’s five against one. You’re just a beta, Scott. You really think this is a fight you can win?” Derek asks, amused. 

Stiles’ grip on Scott’s arm tightens a little, not out of fear, but out of the need to try and calm his own growing anger. “Don’t threaten him,” he says evenly, voice quiet but filled with warning. 

“Why? What will you do about it?” Derek shifts his gaze back to Stiles. 

“You really wanna find out? Because I don’t think it’s a road you’re gonna want to go down,” he says honestly, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze. 

“I really wanna know what exactly you are.” 

“Let’s just leave them alone, Derek,” the curly haired guy speaks up, sounding worried. 

Stiles’ gaze darts to him momentarily and he nods slightly before looking at the alpha again. “Good advice. You should take it.” 

Derek’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t over,” he warns, turning his head to look down the hall as the doors open and more students begin to flood inside. 

“It is for now,” Stiles says calmly. He can still feel the tension in Scott’s body as the other wolves turn to leave. “You okay, man?” His voice is quiet as they watch Derek lead his pack away. 

Scott looks at him dubiously. “You’re the one who was strangled. Pretty sure I should be asking you that.” 

“Yeah, well. Right now you might want to calm down because people are coming and you’re still all wolfie,” he warns. He watches the realization flicker over Scott’s face, the shame that he tries to hide when he ducks his head. Stiles drapes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into the nearest empty classroom, closing the door behind them. “Breathe, Scott,” he says softly. “It’s okay.” 

Scott doesn’t look up at him. Instead he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as Stiles instructs. 

He reaches out and grips onto Scott’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Everything’s okay now.” He feels his friend beginning to calm once more and he lets his hand glide down Scott’s arm soothingly, watches as his features return to human once more. “There we go.” He smiles. 

“I haven’t been that angry in a long time,” Scott admits, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“It’s all right,” he assures him, reluctantly letting go of his arm. 

“No, man. It isn’t. I’m not in control.” 

Stiles sighs softly. “If you weren’t in control someone would have gotten hurt, Scott. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” He has a sneaking suspicion that Scott _never_ gives himself enough credit for anything. 

“Are _you_ okay?” Scott finally looks up at him, reaching up and trailing his fingers lightly over Stiles’ throat. 

He feels his heart skip a beat and he hopes that Scott isn’t listening. “Yeah. Can’t say that was the way I’d anticipated meeting Derek Hale, but from everything I’ve heard about him, I guess I’m not that surprised.” 

“He has a temper,” Scott says grimly, meeting his eyes. 

“I noticed,” Stiles replies wryly. 

____

He is on his way to English when the pretty blond werewolf steps into his path and leans against the lockers, smiling at him. It’s a smile that’s not exactly friendly but not exactly _threatening_ either. “Something I can do for you?” he asks, voice even. 

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” she responds, red lips curling upwards even more as her gaze trails over him. 

Stiles blinks, not sure what to do with the very blatant flirting. He’s not stupid. In fact, he’s pretty sure that Derek has sent her to keep an eye on him, and probably to try and find out more information about him. “Why don’t we start with your name?” 

“You don’t know my name? I’m hurt. You knew Jackson and Scott and Derek.” She pouts. 

“Well, in my defense, I knew Derek’s name before I even came to town,” he tells her casually. Let her take _that_ back to the alpha and see what he did with it. “I met Jackson and Scott my first day here.” One of which he’s pretty glad about. The other he could have done without.

“Jackson’s mostly a douchebag,” she informs him.

He smirks. “I figured that out pretty fast.” He cocks his head to the side. “So what _is_ your name?” 

“Erica,” she responds. “Reyes. But I should have made you work for it.” 

“I was planning to.” He winks at her but it’s not flirting on his part. It’s a subtle form of mockery. He _had_ been planning to find out the identities of the other three werewolves. He starts to head away from her but she catches his arm. 

Instantly his guard is up, but he notes that her claws aren’t out at least. That’s a plus in his opinion. 

“What are you?” 

He arches an eyebrow at her. “You thought you’d catch me alone, flirt a little and I’d spill all my secrets? Really? Does that usually work?” 

Erica narrows her eyes at him. “You know what we are. It’s what’s fair.” 

“Sweetheart. _Life_ isn’t fair.” Lydia appears from out of nowhere and gives her a disapproving look before taking Stiles’ arm and pulling him away from her. 

“You know we’re going to figure it out,” Erica says as he and Lydia head away from her and toward English class. She’s right, of course, but he still wants to do this on _his_ timeline and not on Derek’s. 

Stiles glances sideways at Lydia, and then looks down to where their arms are linked. “You know, you’re the second person to rescue me today.”

“Let me guess. The first was Scott,” she says knowingly. 

He pauses at that. “I’m starting to wonder just how much you know about the things that go on around here.” Not to mention the _how_ part.

Lydia gives him a smile, gaze sharp and intent. “More than I let on. Less than I’d like. We could probably help each other out in that department.” 

“Lydia, I have no doubt about that,” he tells her.

“Well. Then I think this is a beautiful start to a partnership of some kind.” 

He shakes his head and lets her pull him into their English class, smile tugging at his mouth. He has a feeling she’s right.

____

Once more, Scott is aware of the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat before he sees the other boy and he looks up from where he’s sitting in the cafeteria until his gaze lands on Stiles. His eyes dart quickly to where Erica, Boyd and Isaac are sitting, their attention also focused on him. He doesn’t like it. It makes him uneasy that they’re all so focused on his new friend, and okay, Stiles has some kind of powers himself but for whatever reason, he hadn’t used those powers against Derek this morning. Maybe his abilities don’t work on alphas, he thinks, waving him over to the table. 

Stiles lifts his hand in a wave and Scott notes that today he’s not carrying a lunch tray with him. Just his bookbag. He keeps his eyes on the human -- because emissaries are still human -- as he makes his way over to Scott’s table. 

“Hey,” he greets Stiles, confusion flickering in his eyes when Stiles doesn’t sit down. 

“Let’s take a field trip, Scotty,” he suggests, nodding toward the back exit of the cafeteria. 

He arches his eyebrows. “We’re not allowed to leave school grounds for lunch,” he says hesitantly, feeling kind of sheepish. 

Stiles grins. “And that, my friend, is part of the fun. Come on. Live a little.” 

Scott shifts his gaze from Stiles to the other werewolves a couple tables away and he bites his lip, then nods and rises to his feet, gathering his things and following Stiles toward the door. Within moments he’s seated in the passenger seat of a jeep that his friend apparently bought the previous evening. It’s not new. Actually it’s pretty old, but there’s a certain charm to it that Scott can’t deny, and Stiles is clearly proud of his find. 

“So what’s with the field trip?” 

“I thought it’d be good to get away from other _sensitive_ ears,” Stiles tells him as he focuses on the road ahead.

Scott glances at him sideways and nods. 

“So. Lydia.” Stiles glances at him, too. “How long has she been in on the whole full moon secret and do you trust her?” 

He isn’t expecting the question, but he’s already come to realize he never knows what to expect when it comes to the boy beside him. He’s full of surprises. “Uh, well. A few months now. Not...not very long. Jackson was sort of...he was something else before he was a werewolf. She found out then.” 

“Jackson was the kanima?” Stiles shakes his head. “Okay why am I not surprised by that?” 

Scott blinks. “Okay, seriously, man. How much do you know about the things around this town? Like, how much did you know about all of us before you came here?” 

“Well.” Stiles seems to consider that for a moment. “I knew about the Hale family. And what happened to them. I knew there were other werewolves. I knew there was a kanima causing trouble. I know about the whole...someone becoming a true alpha thing even though it hasn’t happened yet. I was sorta following the local paper online while Dad and I lived in Washington.” He shrugs. “Plus...your boss happens to be my mentor’s brother.” 

“Deaton has a sister?” Scott’s eyebrows shot up.

“He does. Her name is Marin Morrell.” 

“And she’s an emissary? Like you and Deaton?” 

Stiles nods. “She is.” 

“Did you know who I was?” Scott can’t help but ask, studying Stiles intently. 

“No,” he says, and Scott knows he’s telling the truth. “I didn’t know anything about you until the day we met. And I had no clue you were a werewolf until Lydia screamed.” He pauses. “Hey, does your mom know? That you were bitten?” 

Scott looks out the windshield. “Yeah. She found out shortly before Lydia did. Also because of Jackson. Sort of anyway. The whole kanima thing came to a head and she happened to be there when it all went down.” It isn’t a night that Scott likes to think about. For one, he’d been shot. And his mom had looked at him like he was something else. Which he is. But it had hurt anyway. 

“She should talk to my dad. He’s pretty much an expert at all the…” Stiles makes a motion with his hand. “Supernatural stuff.” 

“Has he always known?” Scott asks curiously.

“Oh. Yeah.” He seems to hesitate for a moment. “My mom. She was also...she was an emissary.” 

Scott’s chest suddenly feels tight at the slight catch he hears in Stiles’ voice when he mentions his mom in the past tense. At the way his expression tenses slightly, how his shoulders hunch. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, reaching out hesitantly and laying his hand on Stiles’ arm. 

Stiles gives him a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It was a long time ago.”  
“How long?” he can’t help but ask.

“I was eight.” 

Scott pauses. “I was eight. When my dad left.” 

Stiles glances at him again, their eyes meeting briefly. “Well that’s...kinda strange.”

“Just a weird coincidence.” 

A short laugh escapes Stiles’ mouth and he shakes his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences.” Somehow Scott’s not surprised to hear that. 

“Can I ask you something? About the whole emissary thing?” 

Stiles nods but keeps his eyes on the road this time. “Yeah, go ahead.” He likes how freely Stiles tells him things, how he’s easily answering his questions, even when they’re kind of personal. 

“Why didn’t you use your powers this morning on Derek?” 

“Ah.” He nods. “Well first of all, my powers take a lot of focus and concentration to use. Which is kind of ironic because I have ADD.” He smiles faintly. “And secondly...it’s hard to focus and concentrate on much of anything when all the air’s being choked out of your lungs.” 

Scott winces. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.” 

“Scott, it’s fine. I don’t think he would have killed me anyway. I think he just thought his best chance of getting answers was by intimidation.” 

“It’s usually pretty successful,” he comments. 

“Yeah, well. I’m not usually intimidated.” 

“Or that usual,” Scott says without really thinking about it. Then he blushes, looking away. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t -- I totally didn’t mean that in a bad way or anything. It’s just...you’re not really like other people.” 

“Says the werewolf,” Stiles jokes good naturedly. Scott smiles and sneaks a peek back at him once more. “So you never answered the other part of my question.” 

“Which?” he asks uncertainly.

“Lydia. Do you trust her?” 

Scott nods slightly. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t think she’d ever intentionally hurt me or any of the others if that’s what you’re talking about.” 

Stiles tilted his head a little, chewing on his lower lip. “Good. Because I’m pretty sure we’re going to need her help.” 

“With what?” he asks curiously.

He glances at Scott, expression suddenly grim again. “With everything that’s coming.”


End file.
